How About We Run Away Forever?
by WishingWell44
Summary: When Watson and Holmes spend an evening out on the town, something occurred that puts them in danger. Will living their lives in a new way put their relationship to a new level?
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: How About We Run Away Forever?

**Chapter**: 1

**Pairing**: Pre-Holmes/Watson to eventual Holmes/Watson

**Rating**: PG-13/T

**Summary**: When Watson and Holmes spend an evening out on the town, something occurred that puts them in danger. Will living their lives in a new way put their relationship to a new level?

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything.

**A/N**: Whilst I was watching the movie (Sherlock Holmes 2009) for just about the 23rd time, the idea for this fic came to me. This is my first multi-chapter Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Watson sat further into his chair, the springs squeaking in comfort. He turned up his newspaper in order for the fine print to become easier to read. The fire in the middle of the study warmed the area, creating a space where winter was never even in season. To Watson, it felt like he was back home with his parents, when he was just a small boy, coming home from his day out in the snowy forest with his father on a hunting trip – the kettle whistling, and his mum pouring him a cup, the bitter, yet tasteful tang enveloping his taste buds. The doctor woke up, not noticing that he actually dozed off. His feet were raised onto the footstool, and a small blanket was thrown on top of him. <em>Mrs. Hudson's doing, I suppose, <em>he thought. After a quick stretch he grabbed his pocket-watch to look at the time, which surprised him. He hadn't expected a four hour nap on a chair, hell; he didn't expect to fall asleep. The day wasn't filled with any crime fighting – just a day with his patients, taking care of them to make sure they hadn't ingested their medicine wrong or if they hadn't become worse. Grabbing his cane, he walked upstairs to the third floor of 221b Baker Street, not caring that his appearance was somewhat of a ghastly sight.

Watson arrived at his bedroom – the coziness engulfed the bedroom – and changed into his night shirt, laying his tweed suit on the chair next to him. He worried about Mary – his wife, his everything – but would have to wait until the afternoon of the next day since it was already one hour past the new day. He laid his head down on the pillow and instantly fell asleep.

The sunshine shone on his face, waking the doctor up. He cleared his throat and peeled the covers off himself. The light breeze from outside drifted in giving a sense of what London had to offer. He gathered his dressing gown and his cane for support; Watson could smell the food being cooked for the three of them that resided in the flat. He walked down the flights of stairs to see Mrs. Hudson preparing the breakfast. Sherlock Homes, Watson's flat mate, was reading the newest paper shuffling each fold in his hand. He leaned back in his chair, letting it creak.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Watson?" Mrs. Hudson asked, checking the eggs that were frying on the iron cast pan.

"That would be lovely, thank you." he responded. A small smile washed over his face and he scooted himself and his chair a tad further under the table.

"Don't trust her, Watson. She already tried to poison me with her…_concoction." _Holmes said from behind the newspaper. Although he couldn't see Holmes' face, he could already image the small scowl that washed against his face. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and set the plate of food in front of the two men. She tidied up the kitchen before setting aside the dishtowel and leaving for her morning market stroll. The downstairs area became quiet without the clattering of pans echoing. Watson set side his fork and sipped his tea.

"Do you have any cases for today?"

"I do. Lord Glasgane knocked on the door in middle of the night. He expects me on the other side of town. Apparently some theft that led to a bustle in the streets. It shouldn't take long. I expect you to join me?" Holmes' tone was light.

"Mary's parents are in town once again, and they expect me to be there. Since I'm their future son-in-law, I will not, old boy."

"Ah. Well...have a nice afternoon then." Holmes closed up the newspaper and rested it on the edge of the table, gave a smile, with a lack of emotion behind it. Holmes returned to his bedroom to change – to get ready for his case – not bothering to eat his portion of breakfast. Watson sighed and returned his dish to the sink. As he walked back up, Holmes passed the doctor barely acknowledging him, and stepped out the door. Watson sighed.

His clothes were lying on the bed, neatly folded and pressed, thanks to Mrs. Hudson's doing – except for the missing shirt.

"Damn barter system." Watson muttered. The doctor got dressed and grabbed his hat and overcoat, although not putting the garments on since the spring day had fully formed. Calling a cab, Watson returned back to his own home.

Mary sat in the living room, sipping her morning tea waiting for her husband to arrive back to the comfort of their own home, dressed and ready to start the afternoon with her parents.

Watson opened the door and was greeted by Mary's somewhat disappointing expression. "Sorry I'm late, I…uh… fell asleep in the study. Didn't want to wake you in an absurd hour." Watson explained.

"This is not the first time it has happened, John. " She said coldly. "Your little games with that man _have_ to stop sometime soon. We're going to be married in no less than a month; surely you can say no more?"

"I just dozed off in the comfort of my ho-" Watson cut himself off, "of Baker Street. That's all; no cases last night. What's more important is that I'm here and your parents are arriving in no less than…" he pulled out his pocket watch. "Thirty-five minutes."

"You're right-I shouldn't focus on such trivial things. You're here and were to be wed soon." She smiled warmly and Watson returned the same.

It wasn't filled with the same emotion.

He loved Mary, really and truly does, but his heart belonged to someone else. Watson wasn't sure if it was returned, or if he was even _sure_ about these feelings that rested inside of him. But for his wife's sake, Watson kept those feelings disclosed.

"So are we eating at a restaurant or at home?" Watson asked.

"I think we'll eat out. Any suggestions?"

"The Royal?"

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks to **Halfreck3929 **for helping with this first chapter. So? Should I write more? Reviews and constructive criticism is most gladly welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter: 2

Pairing: Pre -Holmes/Watson to Holmes/Watson

Summary: When Watson and Holmes spend an evening out on the town, something occurred that puts their lives in danger. Will living their lives in a new way put their relationship to a new level?

**A/N: **Oh my! I didn't expect to get this amount of wonderful feedback. Thank you so much to bearnecessities, ThorthKa, ReiNixonJ, and Eiffel-FL for reviewing! I really appreciate it. So sorry this chapter was posted later than usual. Final exams have been taking over my life. Enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

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><p>Watson straightened his coat as he sat Mary down in her seat that was at the table.<p>

"Are you nervous, John?"

"Nervous? Heavens no, Mary. They're your parents, dear. How can I ever be nervous?" Watson stated.

"My parents are quite intimidating."

"I've known _much_ worse." He smiled. As they were talking, Mr. and Mrs. Morstan walked up with the waiter standing behind them.

"Mr. Watson." The father stated.

"Actually, it's Dr., but that's not the matter. It's a pleasure to meet you sir," Watson gave a sturdy handshake. "And a pleasure to meet you ma'am." Out of respect, he kissed the top of her hand. As Mr. Morstan pulled out his wife's chair, the waiter pulled out a letter for Watson. The doctor turned to the man in the three-piece suit. "Could we have some wine for the table?"

"Certainly. This is for you. A rather…eccentric man dropped it off."

"Thank you." He said rather confused. In very neat script was Watson's name. Only one name came to mind when he recognized the scripture. A smile wisped across his face.

Only then did he hear Mary's voice calling.

"John?"

Watson met her gaze. "I'm sorry. Can…can you repeat the question?"

"Where are you getting married?" asked the mother.

"Ah. Well the invitations should be arriving soon, however, since you're here – in a chapel just outside of London. Maybe an hour by cab."

"How delightful!" Mrs. Morstan exclaimed. Watson gave a convincing smile. The waiter came up beside the table, gently clasping his hands.

"Have you decided on your order?" he asked politely. Watson folded his napkin on the table, and stood.

"Why don't you order without me? I just have to take care of some business," he patted the left side of the torso, referring to the letter. Excusing himself from the dining session for just about ten minutes, Watson tried to find himself an empty hallway in order to read in privacy. Opening up a door, he found a private dining area for some other fortunate customers. Sitting down on one of the chairs, he opened up the letter and began reading.

_I figured you would choose the Royal as the place to dine with Mary and her relatives. The atmosphere, the food, the wine especially. I am writing this letter to you for reasons not professional, however to ask you if no previous plans were to be made this evening, on the possibility if you had any _cultural_ inclinations to see Don Giovanni at the Opera House this evening. You know where to find me._

_Truly,_

_S.H. _

Watson folded the letter back into the envelope, and placed it in the pocket of his coat. He walked back to his seat, and there in front of him was his dinner.

"Anything amiss, dear?" Mary asked.

"No," Watson smiled. "Just a case that needs to be addressed tonight. Won't be until much later."

"A case?" Mr. Morstan asked.

"Ah. I work along side a…consulting detective."

"Just some pish-posh; nothing serious." Mary added. Watson took the comment hard, but tried to shrug it off as much as he could.

"I find that quite interesting!" Mrs. Morstan explained.

"I do like a man who makes sure his wife is at ease." Mr. Morstan chuckled as he bit into his _Chicken a la Tartar._

Night had fallen and the city of London had gone mostly quiet. Only the rare carriage wheel on cobblestone had filled the air. Watson gathered some clothes to wear for his evening out. His black suit, cravat, and his nicest pair of shoes that he had owned and only worn on special occasions were brought.

Holmes had their usual seats reserved at the opera house. The cab that took Watson back to 221b Baker Street waited outside as he tapped on the door and waited for his dear friend. The door opened to reveal a cleaned up Holmes – no scruff, slicked back hair and a clean suit – a rare sight.

"I got us a cab." Watson stated while smiling.

"Ah, excellent." answered Holmes. He turned around, "Don't stay up for us, Mrs. Hudson. Do have a good sleep." He straightened out his suit and faced Watson once again. "Are we ready then?"

"Indeed."

The two men got comfortable in their seats as the driver took off.

"So I take it Mary didn't let you go?" Holmes inquired.

"Well…yes. I snuck out after she fell asleep." Watson answered.

"Your coat is inside out. I figured you changed in the cab. So what is it this time? Murder on Fleet Street? Theft at the parliament?"

"The latter." Watson said.

"Well, it shouldn't be too long before you can _permanently _stop your visits to your old place – then you wouldn't have to keep coming up with such ridiculous excuses."

Watson tried to keep from releasing the built up anger, and clenched his fist ever so slightly. "I do believe tonight isn't the night to discuss this, old boy."

"You're right. Tonight is a night for music." Holmes said, not letting go of his argument. He patted his suit once again, and looked out the window watching London pass by.

Watson ran his hand over his face in slight frustration and look at the passing buildings as well.

The theater was starting to fill up. Women were dressed up with their evening gowns; chatter among the patrons echoed throughout the building. Holmes and Watson walked up the stairs into their booth. The orchestra was tuning and the two men observed the panicking of the cast based upon the movement of the curtain.

The doctor enjoyed his time with Holmes, even though the detective was irritating at times. They were seldom shared, and even scarcer sine Watson had moved in with Mary.

After about twenty minutes, the rest of the theatre was filled; the orchestra tuned and the curtain had stopped moving- the cast was in place.

As the overture started, the conductor moved his baton in th patter given. Holmes tapped his finger to the beat. Watson smiled ever so slightly, just enough that Holmes wouldn't recognize a change in his facial movements.

The cast took their final bow, individually, and together as a company. People from the seats below yelled "_Bravo_" and "_Encore_" echoing off of the walls. The commotion died down; Holmes and Watson scooted out of the theater, trying to not be noticed by anyone that they possibly knew. It was a personal affair – two close friends having a joyous time - as Watson remarked during intermission - and running into someone they knew would spoil the evening.

"Back to 221b?" Watson asked as he started to hail a cab.

"No need to hail a cab. It's not too far from here; just past the park and then some. Would you care to join me for a walk?" Holmes remarked. Watson reluctantly agreed. It was nearing eleven – early by case standards.

"If you're worried about something, I assure, you have faced worse." Holmes laughed. Watson tried to muster up a convincing laugh; however only a nervous chuckled was uttered. They both walked side-by-side, their hands lightly brushing up against each other. The park was lit from the street lamps that resided in the more affluent part of London. They didn't illuminate much, but just enough to light a portion of the pathway.

"What was your favorite part, Watson?" The two of them walked past two men smoking.

"Good evening, sirs." Watson exchanged pleasantries, and continued. "Probably the violin cadenza. It reminded of the eccentricities that I've kn-" Watson was cut off by a hit to the stomach, and a blow to his leg.

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><p><strong>AN: **Ah, yes. The elusive cliffhanger. The next chapter won't be up for a few weeks because of finals. It should be posted before the end of the year though! Enjoy Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, I know I will! Reviews most gladly welcome! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter: 3

Pairing: Pre - Holmes/Watson to Holmes/Watson

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: Thank you to **bearnecessities**, **BlackWolfSong**, **GlassSoul**, and **xXxMusexXx** for reviewing and to all the people who put up story alerts! I hope everybody enjoys the chapter.

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><p>Watson swung his cane behind himself, but missed. He stumbled in frustration. Holmes backed up as another man appeared from the darkness. He stepped toward the fence, his hands in position to fight. The counterpart quickly kicked Holmes' knees, making them buckle and causing the detective to fall flat on his back. Holmes managed to knock his assistant to their knees by knocking the feet from underneath the assailant. Holmes grabbed the man and put him in a lock as both of them stood. "Watson?" Holmes said. "Watson?" he said again, louder.<p>

"Humph…" was all Holmes heard.

"All you all right?" the detective asked.

"My leg is hurting as though five bloody horses ran over it. I'm just _perfect._"

"And the man who," Holmes' assailant tried to tussle his way out of the detective's grip, however failed, "attacked you?"

"Ran away. Yours?" Watson dusted off his suit as he struggled getting back to his feet. He leaned heavily on his cane.

"Currently in my hold."

"Ah." Watson responded. Holmes returned his attention to the criminal.

"So, sir. What has you strolling about, in the middle of the park at this hour?"

"None of your business. I was under _specific_ orders from a higher power not to say anything."

"No one is here."

"I can't disobey orders from him."

"Who is this person?" Holmes interrogated. He was starting to become angrier. There was a silence. "Tell me who you're working for!"

A pause.

Holmes' eyes widened. A second later, he punched the attacker one more time, breaking his nose. The nameless man ran off.

"Holmes! He's getting away!" The doctor tried to see where the man ran of to, however because of the lack of light, and the pain, Watson only managed to move a couple of paces forward.

"I can see that." Both men sat on the bench. For a few minutes, nothing was spoken, and the sounds of London plagued the night. "Do you-"

"I rather not speak about this. We should keep walking back."

"Watson, no. Surely you can't since your leg is under great distress. I'll catch a ride for us both."

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><p>221b was quiet. Holmes opened the door, helping Watson walk. It took twice as long for them the reach the second floor.<p>

"I think I can manage from here." Watson said. In the dim light, the doctor could see something trickling down Holmes' face. "There's a rather large gash on your head. I need to bandage you before we head our separate ways for the evening."

Holmes silently agreed. Watson opened the doors to his old medical practice – the only thing still in tact after his departure. Off to the side, a box of medical supplies, necessary to help small gashes and bruises. "Sit." Watson ordered. He unraveled the gauze to make sure he had enough. Lighting the oil lamp, Watson patted away the dried blood that framed Holmes' face and the wound to make sure he wouldn't get infected.

"I can take care of myself, Watson, from here," the doctor was finishing bandaging up his counterpart. "You're in need of rest. Your old room is still made, if you would like to stay." Holmes said blatantly.

"Mary wouldn't be pleased. I'll just take a ride from a passer by…my leg is felling better. Don't worry." Watson said. He cut the excess gauze that was hanging loose from Holmes' head.

"Goodnight then, mother hen." Holmes gave a tight smile then walked up the stairs to his room.

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><p>Watson awoke in his bed, next to Mary. There was a dull aching stemming from his head. The night before was a blur – everything happening too quickly for Watson's liking. He grabbed his pocket watch from his side of the night table and looked at the time.<p>

_10:00 in the morning._

Only an hour before he needed to see his regularly scheduled patients. Watson needed to see his friend to get an update about what truly did happen. The events played back in his mind. The opera, the walk in the park, and the dreadful fight with the two mysterious men.

Holmes knew, and Watson had to find out.

The doctor tended to the sick. Even though his day was long and tiresome, he still managed to find himself at the stoop of 221b Baker Street. Watson knocked on the door. The are was relatively quiet for early evening – usually a couple vendors would be selling their homegrown vegetables and homemade goods on the sides of the street, drawing a decently sized crowd. Mrs. Hudson opened the door with an exasperated smile. "Ah, Mr. Watson. What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in."

"I wont be in here for long. Just need to speak with Holmes about some matters, that's all." He took off his overcoat and top hat and hung it on the coat rack ignoring Mrs. Hudson's silent request to take it off his hands.

Watson was half way up the stairs before Mrs. Hudson spoke again. "Oh and before I forget…how was your evening?"

"Quite enjoyable, thank you for asking." Watson replied. The landlady probably already knew about the tussle. The doctor reminisced about how Holmes and himself were able to get away from all of the crime and just have a night for them, and them only. It would have been interesting, Watson mused to himself, what the night would have turned into if they didn't encounter any trouble. Watson approached Holmes' study and opened the doors to find a relatively quiet detective.

Holmes was sitting in his chair sideways, and reading one of his encyclopedias trying to catch up on another one of his cases. "Ah, Watson. Back from treating patients?"

"Yes." Watson put his hands into his coat pocket. "I need to talk to you." He cut right to the chase.

"What is it?" Holmes asked in a slightly delighted tone.

"About last night. In the park." The detective lit up his tobacco pipe. There was a brief period of silence between the two men. "Who were they?" Watson's voice was monotonous.

"Scoundrels. They wanted information."

"About what?"

"For nothing."

"Certainly…if they wanted to know something, there must be an answer."

"Indeed." was all that was muttered by Holmes.

"Whom were they working for?" Watson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A higher power."

"That could be literally anybody. We've faced 'the higher power' more times that I can remember." Watson countered.

"We have the facts presented to us, which means we just have to dig deeper into the rabbit hole."

"No, Holmes…not this ti–" Watson was starting to get aggravated.

"Their clothing – flimsy, dirty – from what I saw in the dim light, unshaven, rubber soled shoes – the best for working on dry docked ships or for instance, bridges. Which way did they run?" Holmes analyzed.

"I believe they ran down the south-east pathway."

"Back towards the outskirts of the city... they could just be a couple of muggers, Holmes."

"Hm…" Holmes stood up and walked about the study. He ran the facts through his mind, trying to piece together what was going on.

"For someone who usually talks through his deductions, you are quite silent, old boy." Watson stressed. There was a small silence between the two.

"Holmes, who do they work for?" Watson was aggravated – however he tried to stay calm.

Holmes inhaled the smoke from his pipe and took a long drag. "My old friend, or colleague. I took a few cases beforehand where I had to deal with his actions which caused London a great deal of havoc." Holmes ended abruptly. "It was sometime when Lestrade started as inspector." He gave a small chuckle. "Would you like to possibly begin to investigate in the morning?"

"Holmes, you know I can't."

"Old times sake?"

"My wife to-be is waiting. I'll see you when I can." Watson tried to talk over Holmes, however failed. He walked back out of the study, and headed back to his home. It took effort not to look back at his friend's pleading eyes. Watson shut the front door and continued to hail a cab.

"Where too?"

"124 Mur-" Watson was cut off when a gloved hand covered half his face.

"I don't think you will be going anywhere right now."

Watson stayed still as the sound of the cocking of the gun filled the air.

_I should have stayed, _was all Watson could think.

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><p>AN: Yes, I know. Another cliffhanger. It moves the story right along, though. I hope everybody had a happy holiday, and I wish everyone a safe and happy New Years! Reviews are most gladly welcome. :D


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter: 4

Pairing: Pre Holmes/Watson to Holmes/Watson

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: Sorry for the late update. Been busy this winter break but the chapter has been updated once again. Thanks to **hawkfire111** and **Lady Geuna** for reviewing! Enjoy the chapter!

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><p>"Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes yelled down the stairs. The landlady shuffled her way towards the edge of the stairs.<p>

"Mr. Holmes, isn't it a little early to have already need to call the inspectors?"

"All the humor at 8 in the morning? I'm shocked." Holmes remarked sarcastically. "I was wondering if there have been any other interests in my line of work; people possibly wanting my assistance?" Holmes was still in most of his clothes from the night before.

Mrs. Hudson sighed and pulled out a couple of slips of folded parchments and handed to Holmes and descended the stairs. He took one stair at a time looking at the crimes that people brought to him. "Thank you, _nanny_." Holmes mumbled

"Have a nice rest of the morning, Mr. Holmes." The landlady sighed.

"Petty-theft…husband stole the necklace for more money…" Holmes analyzed the data that was given to him. The third letter caught the detective's attention. Unfolding the wax sealed letter, Holmes observed the slanted ink upon the paper.

_Sherlock Holmes,_

_I have seen a lot of things in my thirty years of life and over the years, but nothing has been more . However, I'm rambling on. The real point I'm writing you this letter is because I have someone that might be of interest with me. I can't wait to meet you again, Sherlock Holmes. John Watson is a great person, although not that talkative. Probably because of the gag and rope. Anyway, I am currently residing on Elms. _

_Come and find me. _

_Sincerely, _

_Professor Moriarty._

_P.S. I'm not afraid to kill._

The letter ended there. Holmes felt his face flair up in anger, panic and fear. He didn't truly know what to do, but in the back of his mind, he understood.

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><p>A quick travel by coach, and Holmes arrived in the industrial section of London. The air was thick with coal ash; small specks landed on the window as the horse trotted through the street. "Which building sir?" the coachman yelled into the small window through the front.<p>

"Two more to your left." Holmes responded. He was on a mission, yes, but there was more to scratch the surface. He couldn't let Watson become injured. Holmes would continue to blame himself over and over again. A jolting halt brought Holmes back into reality. He tightened his cap upon his head and hoped he could find his dear friend without getting caught.

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><p>"This is not going to take a long time." Moriarty said and cleared his throat. "My gun, please."<p>

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><p>Holmes managed to bypass the four henchmen that surrounded the foyer. There were still people to try and get pass. He hoped that Watson was conscious to hopefully tell what happened to Lestrade.<p>

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><p>"As we can see here the gun is now fully cocked and loaded and ready to be used." Moriarty's accent drifted through the dry docking building. A muffled scream was heard behind closed doors. Watson sat up, alert of his surroundings.<p>

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><p>Holmes hit a henchman causing his legs to fall from underneath him. <em>That is one down…six to go.<em> Holmes thought to himself.

_Next opponent, _Holmes gathered. _Limping – weight shifted on left leg. When walks, puts no pressure on front left section on his foot. Shoulder previously fractured, and has been healed for just about three to four weeks. Break right foot entirely, shoulder will start to shadow body. Hit ear, causing deafness. Eight-month recovery. _

Holmes grabbed the closest wooden plank and rammed it onto the attacker's foot. Sure enough, the larger man started to dip his body to cover himself. Holmes hit the opponent's right shoulder and felt a sturdy crack in the collarbone.

The larger man screamed in pain, causing guards to run toward the fight. Holmes heard the footsteps and ran. He didn't want to get caught. After a few more encounters, the detective arrived at a door and wished that it opened to what he hoped.

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><p>Moriarty heard the doors click into place. Holmes had his back to his old friend, trying not to see the danger he put Watson into.<p>

"And the great detective has arrived." Moriarty put on a cheery expression. "So very glad to see you, Holmes. How has it been lately? Has your business been well?"

"I don't think this is the best time for pleasantries." Holmes stated.

"You're right, like always. Which brings me to my next point – why we're actually here." Holmes was cuffed to a chair that was brought by a henchman. He sat down in the chair, situated next to Watson. "All of us. Dear Doctor Watson, that reminds me. How are you? The handcuffs too tight?"

Watson tried to get his hands out of the chains, but alas failed. He managed to grunt through the fabric gag. Holmes winced – he didn't want to see Watson in this state.

Moriarty cleared his throat. "I've been here a long time – longer than you? No, but just enough to know London like the back of my hand – and I've been ever so meaning to be able to have some sort of control. As I strolled the parks I thought about what I can do…what I can _achieve. _I needed to start it at the source and the source? Scotland Yard. As I dug my way thought the information in the many files. Breaking to the station was too easy; I saw your file and notes of your detective work which the yard has kept." Moriarty paused. "Anyway. Since your detective work has either led criminals of my caliber either off to the cells or to the noose, there can only be one course of action."

"If you're going to kill someone, kill me. Watson has too much of a valuable life." Holmes pleaded.

"Killing people? All I want to do is construct a plan that will eventually cause London's little downfall, in the power of my hands. You're the start of it."

Holmes let the information sink in. "I have _generously _bought you and Doctor Watson a one way ticket to somewhere which you will find out in one weeks time."

"And what if we don't?"

"I'll grab my revolver and actually kill you, personally of course. I don't think that is how you want to depart, is it now?"

Holmes was red with anger.

"One day to pack for your trip; say goodbye to your love ones. Especially Mary, Doctor. I don't think she'll be too pleased. " Moriarty chuckled to himself has he saw Watson try to unshackles himself from handcuffs. " I will be keeping tabs on the two of you. One in the afternoon tomorrow – be at the docks. Your vessel will be waiting gentlemen." Moriarty placed the key to Watson's handcuffs down Holmes' shirt. Just as Moriarty closed the door, Holmes managed to slip out both his hands, and grabbed the key. Holmes threw the chains aside and assisted Watson in taking the metal bindings from his wrists and the fabric gag from his mouth. Watson was silent. He got up from the chair, dusted off, grabbed his cane and started to walk to the entrance.

"Watson – I have to give-" Holmes was cut off.

"Do not bloody _talk_ to me." Watson's voice was strained and stern. Up until now you have made my relationship with my wife an untrusting and strained. Now, because of your blasted methods, we have to leave this city in order just to keep her alive!" Watson was at the point of breaking. The doctor walked off in a hurried manor. Holmes stood in silence. "I'll see you tomorrow, old boy." The detective's voice was soft and beaten.

Holmes walked off in a slow manor, making his way back to the cab that brought him there.

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><p><strong>AN:** Reviews are most gladly welcome. :D


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter: 5

Pairing: Pre-Holmes/Watson to Holmes/Watson

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: So sorry for the late update. Classes are in full swing now which doesn't leave me much time to write. However here is the next, and I hope you will enjoy!

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><p>"Mary?" Watson unlocked his front door. Mary walked through the kitchen doors with a beaming smile on her face.<p>

"John! Thank Heavens you are all right. Where have you been?" Her voice sounded worrisome.

"On…on another case. It was all of a sudden…"

"I told you not to go on those anymore. They're dangerous enough around _Sherlock."_

Watson sighed, and his fiancé continued. "Although the matter still persists, I am just glad that you made it back in one piece." Mary fixed her dress.

A couple of moments passed before Watson admitted his intentions. "We have to reschedule our wedding."

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><p>"Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes questioned.<p>

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" Her voice carried from down the corridor.

"Do you know where my leather suitcases are?" Footsteps were quickly walking towards the door.

"Suitcases?"

"Indeed…in order to _properly_ travel, I would assume you would put clothes and other items in the case to transport, based on the plethora of encyclopedias and such dictionaries I have read."

"I do understand the meaning of the word, however why would you need such a thing?" Mrs. Hudson questioned the detective.

"One of my old…colleagues arrived back in London. To make a long story short, I am off to the piers for my departure, along with Watson This is not planned, but we are being forced, and under watch until," he pulled out his pocket watch, "another twenty-two hours."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I am not sure."

There was a minute of silence between the two. "The cases are in the closet near the back." Mrs. Hudson replied. The pitter-patter of her shoes echoed until she arrived back at her cramped room. Holmes sighed and began to find the suitcases.

* * *

><p>The confrontation between Watson and Mary turned into a tussle. Mary's tears stained her dress and Watson's voice became strained from yelling. Once the two of them composed themselves, Watson tried to let Mary understand what was happening.<p>

"What exactly is going on? Please, just tell me the truth and you don't have to give my some of this….bloody lies that could lay in our home. Enlighten me, John."

"I have to leave."

"Leave?"

"To an unknown location."

"But why?" Tears started to roll down Mary's face again, one by one.

"I can't tell you! There are probably people outside our house right now making sure I pack of my belongings."

"The wedding…?" Mary asked and Watson sighed.

"Will have to be postponed until further notice." Watson stated. It was really the only thing on Mary's mind.

"Are you going along?" Mary asked.

"No. Holmes became the center point of this fiasco."

"Of course." Mary laughed. "Of course it would be him to mess up _our_ wedding. It's him that makes _our _time into _your _time." Mary became increasingly angry and cynical with each word she spoke. "Maybe this will be for the better. Maybe…" she stopped herself.

"I think it's best if I start my packing. " Watson stated and left the room.

Once all set with his suitcases Watson started to pack his belongings. Coats, shirt, trousers and pants became mixed between the three cases. His personal belongings became interspersed with his medical supplies. He was, after all, still a doctor.

After his packing, Watson got under the covers to his bed. Mary slept beside him for last time. He heard her light breathing and noted not to wake her until it was time for the rooster to crow.

Watson's mind didn't wander from the fact of how it would have been different if he just spent one extra night. He should have then but it could have affected the relationship with Holmes he already has with him. Granted, every time Holmes showed more pieces of skin, Watson's mind wandered to the possibility if there was more to uncover. He remembered that one night two months ago as clear as day. Maybe that one extra night could have ignited something more. He loved Mary, he truly did, but Holmes and he were always more in tune with each other. Times like when Mary shifted in her spot of the bed. Watson blinked out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the reality he came to loathe.

The sun washed over the doctor's face first. It was a rare occasion when this type of weather happened in the mostly gray skies of London. Watson threw his legs over the side of the bed and sighed. He didn't want her to see him leave. Watson grabbed the two bags and left them outside of his bedroom door.

After getting dressed, quietly, Watson grabbed the key to his desk drawer, where he kept his check and notebooks. Watson immediately put the black leather bound journals into his Gladstone bag. On the far corner of the desk drawer, his checkbook lay behind a small stack of papers. Flipping through the bundling, he left two blank checks for Mary if she ever ran into trouble. With the rest of his luggage Watson proceeded to the front of his house, outside, and leave to the piers.

Sherlock Holmes sipped on his tea and ate his breakfast in silence. Gladstone rested at his feet, quietly panting. Taking a bite of his toast Holmes' mind drifted off to where the trip will take them. The hope for a place not too far from London was a possibility, however Moriarty would not settle for the mediocre. Holmes did not just know. It was uncharacteristic and that's what worried him. He quietly finished his breakfast.

His trunk cases were lined up by the door. Not two minutes later a knocking on the door sounded through 221b Baker Street. He wished to see Watson, but the man who stood there was not him.

"Would you like me to grab your bags, sir?"

"Yes, please and thank you." Holmes responded. Mrs. Hudson shuffled passed the younger driver.

Sighing, the landlady became increasingly sadder. " I will take care of the dog. Also, a new set of tenants will have to occupy your space, whilst the two of you are away. But as soon as I hear that you and Dr. Watson are on the next available ride home, I will kick out the tenants as soon as possible."

"I will write to you as often as I can. Take care, _nanny._" Holmes gave a small smile and tipped his hat. "Farewell."

The carriage brought Holmes and his belongings along the piers of London. Gloomy skies engulfed the once beautifully blue sky once again. Holmes could see Watson standing near Moriarty, looking at his feet. The horse and buggy came to halt. Holmes sighed and began his departure.

Holmes and his three suitcases arrived on the dock. Watson, with only two pieces of luggage, acknowledged the detective's presence.

"Ah." stated Moriarty. "We're all finally here. We can begin our show." The criminal clapped his hands and began to talk.

"I won't be too long. I have in my hand two tickets to your destination. You will find out where you will arrive either on the boat, or until you get there. I bid you good luck gentlemen." Moriarty tipped his hat and walked away. "Don't even try to think about escaping now." He yelled back. "My most _notable_ accomplice will be watching you until you step on that soil," he warned as he kept walking away. The taller man handed Holmes and Watson their respected tickets. Their bags were brought onto board while the two men stared at the ocean liner.

"Here we go, mother hen." Holmes whispered. Watson didn't respond. He didn't _want_ to respond. The doctor tried to make it seem like it wasn't his fault, but the scenario played over and over in his mind, and the constant proof seemed to drain his anger and spirits.

"I hope you have a good trip." A crewmember greeted as he checked the pair's tickets. As they walked up the ramp, they heard the screaming of people yelling to their loved ones, saying their goodbyes.

London was gray. Holmes and Watson got one last look until they saw her beauty shine. It pained Watson to let such a city go, and to see Mary blend right into the faded memories that already started to form in Watson's mind. Holmes' expression was bleak but he know that London was a part of him and he will always return, no matter how long it took.

"_All aboard!"_ a crew member yelled.

The horn of the vessel echoed throughout the surrounding area and the ship started to move. There was no way of getting out of this now.

* * *

><p>AN: Like I said, classes are in full swing, so I hope to update the next chapter around mid to late March. Reviews are most gladly welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I've been super busy with class these past few weeks. So sorry for the late update, but here is the next chapter. To make up the late update I put in a little more H/W. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

* * *

><p><em>2 Months earlier<em>

Watson knocked on the door to 221B, hoping Holmes would be there. One of the Irregulars was sent to Watson with what they thought was urgent news.

Holmes opened the door. "Ah, Watson. How nice of you to join. Please, come in. I hae just almost completed one of my experiments." His voice was strained and seemed almost nervous.

Watson didn't think too much of it. Holmes led Watson to his chemistry study.

"Holmes, was all this just for your experiments? Surely you have a case to attend to."

"Those can wait." Holmes stated quickly. "Come." The flasks were set upon stacks of papers - all which had scribbles, drawings, or ink splatters - indicating months of research. "You see here?" Holmes held up a small beaker. "I have successfully matched the chemical components to the lead suspect in the case of Mr. Jameson. It proves my _theories_!" A small smile graced the detective's face.

"That case was two months ago. I thought we solved that one claiming Mr. Warbin as the front runner?"

"Yes…I was just…checking my theories." Holmes noted.

"Ah, well then. I'll just back to my daily routine." Watson declared. "There are about two more patients I have to see today."

"Watson." Holmes said. The doctor sighed.

"I can't _keep_ observing your-" As Watson turned around, Holmes walked up to him. Only an inch separated the two of them and neither of them budged. Holmes leaned in closer, putting his hand on Watson's hip. Watson breathed heavier, leaned in and met Holmes' lips. The kiss was rough at first, but as the moments passed by the kisses became softer and more loving. Watson's mustache rubbed against Holmes' stubble. Before Watson began to place his hands on Holmes' face to embrace even more, he pulled away.

"I-I can't-". Flustered, Watson walked out of the room with the rest of his items. Holmes with his hair tousled and wild, stood there, face red, and watched him leave.

* * *

><p>Holmes drew in a large breath, which brought Watson back to reality.<p>

"Ah, the ocean air. Reminds me of the times Mycroft and I visited the beaches as young lads."

"You two." The henchman said. "Come with me. We're going to find your rooms."

They began walking as soon as the larger gentleman talking. " I will be overseeing everything you do in order so you don't escape. You two will not say anything of this matter to other patrons on this vessel, no matter how close you may come with them." The walls of the inside of the boat became cramped.

"2nd floor. Decent enough of room space. I'm surprised he even gave us these living quarters. We even may be able to dine with some interesting enough people." Watson mused.

"You did your fair share of reading, Watson. I am quite impressed." Holmes stated.

"Wonders what a newspaper can inform you on." Watson smirked as he continued to follow the larger gentleman. The henchman stopped in front of a metal grey door.

"I will be located across from the two of you. To repeat, Moriarty's words, do not bring anyone else into this, or there will be serious implications. The list of the week's journey shall be found on the desk inside. I will meet up with you two to discuss further."

The loud creak of the door echoed through the hallway, letting the light pour into the room. Ornate light fixtures deeply colored, accented the room with two small beds stacked upon one another, a desk, and a small circular window stood before the two men.

"Ah. This seems like a rather large room." Holmes mused He walked over to the window, observing the ocean.

"This room reminds me of something Mrs. Hudson would live in." Watson chuckled trying to keep is mood chipper. He walked over to the desk, finding a list and a hand written letter.

_The staff and team of chefs would like to cordially welcome you on the voyage. Over the course of the trip breakfast, lunch, tea, supper, and dinner will be served on the establishment when the clock strikes:_

_9:30 in the morning_

_11:30 in the morning to 15:00 in the afternoon_

_Tea at 16:00_

_Supper at 17:30_

_Dinner will be served at 20:00 until 22:00_

_All meals will be at leisure, not including dinner. Dinner shall be a formal event and will be eaten with other patrons on the vessel. _

_**Table 34**_

_We do hope you enjoy your stay and we will be sure it is at its safest. _

_Sincerely,_

_Captain McGregor and the rest of the crew._

Watson set down the paper on the desk after reading aloud. "I wonder whom we are dining with Watson. A scientist is likely, being a very new and upcoming profession. Or possibly-" Holmes was cut off.

"Could you please just quiet down for two seconds? I need to relax for the time being. I just left my wife and it's been a very long and very excruciating day."

"Indeed Watson. I shall wake you when our guard arrives.

* * *

><p>Holmes shook Watson awake, gently. The doctor stirred, grumbling.<p>

"Hrumph..." Watson stretched his arms and woke up.

"What time is it?"

"Ten minutes to the hour. Dinner is just about to be served and our...guard, would like to speak with us."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Just about four hours." Holmes replied. The look on Watson's face of slight horror, amused Holmes. The doctor swung his legs across the bed and ran his hand through his hair. "You needed rest. Sleeping on the chair just a few nights ago, plus with all the added stress from last night, I do believe it was needed."

"…Why was I covered in blankets? I 'm sure I fell asleep without any on…" Watson continued on.

"You were starting to shiver. I thought it would be best to keep you warm, mother hen." Holmes smiled a tad. The guard knocked on the door, interrupting Holmes and Waston's conversation. "May I come in?"

"Do you think I would leave the most prominent person in our lives, at this very moment stand outside the door without any sort of invitation in, is _beyond _me." Holmes said as he walked over to the door. "You are just the closest person dear to our hearts who really made our lives so wonderful." Every ounce of Holmes' word was draped with sarcasm.

"There is no time for games. Before you leave for dinner you do have to remember one thing: You will not be who you are on this trip."

"I'm sorry, could please repeat that?" Watson inquired.

"In order to conceal yours truly, and Moriarty's identity, on the course of this trip to your destination, you two will have a separate identity. This will be in affect immediately." The guard stated.

"What happens if we refuse?" Watson angrily replied.

"You will get killed. Or thrown overboard, taking into account that we're in the ocean."

"Why does this have to always bloody happen to us? You take me away from my home, take away my dignity, and I damn well will not give up my name for seven days!" The doctor's voice started bellowing through out the halls. The guard pulled out his pistol, and cocked the gun, point-blank to Watson's face.

"If you do not wish to be killed, I do suggest you try and calm down. If we can, hopefully, comply, it will be easier to go with the course that Moriarty is setting out for us. He _wants_ us to not comply, because if we don't, it shall be our demise." Holmes said. There was a silence for a few moments, which Holmes took it to be a silent agreement. "So, Mr.…I don't think I quite caught your name."

"Burns."

"Mr. Burns, what are our newest identities for the time being?" Holmes inquired.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Reviews are most gladly welcome. I'm not sure when I'll update next…classes are super intense and I need to focus on my grades. Do not worry though! I'm not giving up writing this story; just expect a little more time in between updates. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I've been super busy with class these past few weeks, but finals are over and I can now write some more. There is a bit more Holmes/Watson in this chapter. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything.

* * *

><p>Both Watson and Holmes tugged on their suits near the entrance of the dining hall. "Your bowtie is askew." Holmes acknowledged.<p>

"This is an evening dinner, not a ball." Watson said in return. "I think the bowtie is just fine." Watson turned to face Holmes to give his answer.

"Why do you get to keep your first name." Holmes wouldn't let the fact go.

"_Sherlock_ isn't the most common name, now is it, old boy?" the comment quieted Holmes. "How about Stephen?"

"Doesn't fit me."

"You're only going to be using it for half a fortnight. Less, even." Watson chuckled softly.

"Only, and only if it would make this trip easier."

"As long as you don't keep up your bickering there will not be any more trouble." Watson sighed.

"Gentlemen?" the host said. Watson abruptly turned away from the detective. "You are Mr. John Hays," The crew member acknowledged Watson at the door, "and…I don't think I quite caught your name?"

"Mr. Stephen Johansson"

"Ah. Quite right. Very nice for you two to come along on our trip. Your table is right in here." The crew member led them in.

* * *

><p>The table was set up near the windows, overlooking the waves crashing upon the boat. A plethora of people sat at the table: Four women, two of them young and six men three with fairly large amounts of facial hair, one without, and two greying at the temples. Most were upper class citizens however two, a young man and woman, were most likely moving to a different place.<p>

"Ah, the table is complete. Glad that you can join us at _Table 34_. The food shall be coming any minute. I'm Henry Smith." He took a hand and shoved it into the men's personal spaces. "I run Château du Frances down in Southern London. A very successful restaurant. Taking a well-needed vacation with my wife." Smith pointed to the woman across the table wearing a delicate light purple dress. Her hair curled in a tight bun. "Susana."

"Our pleasure." Holmes spoke for him and Watson.

"If I may, I'm Geoffrey Benn. Entrepreneur and getting out of England while I can and trying to see if it is possible to expand further than a dodgy city." He gave a hearty laugh. "I love it so, but I hear the night life in the city is ever so wonderful. We've visited in May and just couldn't _wait_ to return." He gestured to another woman. "We plan to move."

"How sweet!" exclaimed another woman at the end of the table.

"Do you two have any ladies waiting for you?" Mr. Smith asked.

"I just never had to the time. There was this one woman, but she outsmarted me on _multiple_ occasions." Holmes said.

"…and you Mr. Hays?"

"Not anymore." Watson's voice was soft as he took a sip of brandy. The table went silent.

It was true and not true at the same time. Mary was still back at the house doing what she does best, but at the same time she was gone. Luckily, the waiter served the first course to save the conversation. Watson continued his drinking through the rest of the meal whilst Holmes cut himself off from the amount of wine. The evening subsided with everyone giving his or her goodbyes until the next day.

"Mr. Johansson?" Smith called. "Do note that I will be more than delighted to take a tour of the vessel. When you wake up, find Mr. Hays and we shall venture on." he explained through slightly slurred words.

"That would be grand. Have a pleasant rest of the evening." He said his goodbyes to the rest of the people sitting around the table.

"Come-on Watson. Let's get you back to our room."

"_The _room." Watson's slurred words followed Holmes'.

* * *

><p>Holmes helped the doctor up with an arm slung around his waist.<p>

"You do not have to do this." Watson stammered drunkenly. "I am perfectly," he paused, "capable."

"Oh, Burns, I could use an extra hand or two." Holmes said. "However that might be _too _much work for you." He said sarcastically.

After the grueling walk back down the way towards the room, Mr. Burns stopped Holmes and Watson before they went inside, or before Holmes brought Watson inside.

"I expect to see you two tomorrow to engage with others." Holmes nodded and opened the door to his and Watson's room.

* * *

><p>"Oh what have we here?" Watson said with amusement.<p>

"We are here to sleep. Are you able enough to undress yourself and head to bed?" Holmes asked as he let Watson go. He stumbled out of Holmes' arms, backwards and into the wall.

_I'm guessing that's a no._ Holmes thought. The detective brought Watson to his bed. He unbuttoned his jacket, carefully trying to rip anything off the well-tailored suit. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the doctor's nightclothes, and brought them over. His shirt, still without one speck of dirt, was next. Holmes unbuttoned the shirt revealing Watson's stilled tanned skin. He could see the scar in his shoulder clear as day, which brought shivers down Holmes' spine. The doctor was becoming quieter. He helped Watson put his nightshirt on, armhole at a time. Holmes' breathing became erratic. He had to remove Watson's trousers. Almost nervous, Holmes unbuttoned and then unzipped the black clothing and slid them off. Watson laid his head on the pillow almost instantly falling asleep.

"Good night, my dear doctor." Holmes nearly whispered. _Possibly the only time I will be that close to him again._ Holmes blew out the oil lit lamp.

* * *

><p>The sun greeted the doctor like a slap in the face.<p>

"Ah, you're awake. How do you feel?" Holmes quipped.

"It'd be best if you'd stop yelling." Watson stated from his bed. Holmes finished putting on his jacket.

"We have plans to explore this vessel with Mr. Smith soon." He pulled Watson's covers off of him. "It's time to start seizing the day at once." Holmes was almost out the door before Watson realized that he had different clothes on than what he last remembered.

"Did you change my clothes for me?" The doctor asked.

"Indeed. I don't think sleeping in a bowtie and a three-piece suit is the best outfit to sleep in, don't you think?" Watson was silent. "I'll be watching on the main deck with Mr. Smith. Your presence would be _quite _the treat." Holmes smiled. And closed the door.

Watson sighed.

* * *

><p>Holmes leisurely sat on the metal chairs on the deck. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Mr. Burns observing his every move.<p>

"Ah! Mr. Johansson. A very good morning to you. Did you sleep well?"

"Quite. My friend, on the other hand, didn't. The drinks didn't sit with him well."

Watson adjusted his suspenders under his tweed jacket as he was approaching the two men.

"Watson!" Holmes' face lit up. "How nice of you to finally join us. You've arrived just in time. We're going to take a tour of the vessel.

As they walked, the both Holmes and Watson exchanged looks. The stroll on the deck reminded them of their nightly walks, arms in arm. Smith, Watson and Holmes gave small anecdotes from their hometowns, some true and some false from both the doctor and the detective's own accord.

They arrived at the first room. A large grand piano, a wall of books, and a violin that rested against the glossy piano finish was the first thing that was noticed. Three hefty couches and a couple of small tables sat beside them where plates for cigarettes and cigars could be patted out.

Each room they found was just as ornate as the last. The two men found each room another distraction from the thought that they may not see England again – for maybe just another hour or two. The tour ended with three of them back on the vessel.

"Will I expect the both of you this evening for dinner? I hear they eve they have an excellent course for dinner also for lunch, if I may add."

"Yes, you will. Brandy and cigars following?" Watson asked.

"Sounds splendid." Mr. Smith smiled and walked off.

"They day is still quite young, Watson. Would you like to spend more of the day on the deck?"

Watson smiled. "That would be most enjoyable."

* * *

><p>Dinner came and passed. Just before everybody left for his or her respected rooms, Mr. Smith stood. "I was wondering if the men would like to join me for some brandy and cigars?" The men at the table nodded.<p>

Everyone in the room was talking aimlessly. Mr. Smith cleared his throat and headed over to Watson's area.

"So, Mr. Hays. I'm curious. How in fact did you meet your late wife?"

"I…I didn't have much money to live alone, so a friend of mine introduced me to Mr. Johansson. His job led me to see many people."

"And what is your job?" Mr. Benn asked Holmes curiously.

"I'm a consulting…" Holmes started to answer, then immediately saw the henchman's scowl. "Consulting Tailor. People come in to find help to mend their clothing. Interesting job."

"Anyway, my wife came through that door one day with a very tricky tailoring problem. She didn't meet my good friend that day, and only met him a few weeks before I proposed to her."

"Ah, quite interesting." Mr. Smith stated. As the night went on, more men finished their drinks and departed for the night. Holmes and Watson were left in the room. Holmes saw the violin by the piano. Plucking a few strings he continued to grab the instrument by its neck and put the wooden surface under Holmes' skin. Grabbing the bow Holmes started to play a piece by memory. Watson intensely listened to the soothing music, just like a night back home in London.

The next days continued as so: another look around the ship discovering a new rooms once again, dinner, and finishing off the day with brandy and violin playing for hours into the night.

It was the most pleasant night they have shared together yet.

* * *

><p>On the morning of the seventh day, Mr. Burns knocked on the door to Holmes and Watson's room. A half-awake Holmes opened the door.<p>

"Get packing. The vessel is docking today."

By the time the two finished locking their suitcases, they headed up to the deck to see their arrival. Mr. Smith, a friend well acquainted over the time on board, came walking by and gave them each a sturdy handshake. " I do hope you two enjoy your time."

"Same to you, Mr. Smith." Watson answered.

"Do you know how long each of you will be staying?"

"Not quite." Watson's answer was short and to the point.

"No…the plans are quite open at the moment. All I can do is wait and see what happens." Holmes said.

"That's probably a good thing." Mr. Smith gave a hearty chuckle. "New York City is such a fascinating place, you can probably lose track doing the most trivial thing."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Reviews are most gladly welcome. Summer vacation has started which means I get to write some more. Not sure when the next chapter will be, but it won't be as long as before!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything.

**A/N**: Sorry for the wait. Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry could you repeat that?" Watson pinched the bridge of his nose.<p>

"New York City is such a fascinating place." His tone was almost monotonous.

"That's what I gathered." Watson put on his best fake smile. "Have a pleasant trip."

"I think our lives just have embarked on a _very_ different path." Holmes stated as they walked towards Mr. Burns. Watson's face became red with anger and started towards Mr. Burns, who was leaning over the railing looking at the water gliding past the ship.

Holmes ran in front of the doctor, dropping his luggage to the hard, wooden surface. He placed his hands on Watson's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. "Watson! Punching him would do no good. Think of the consequences." Holmes voice was soothing to Watson. His flushed face eased back to his normal tan complexion. Watson took some deep breaths before he finally approached Mr. Burns.

"There is just one tiny detail that you _forgot_ to mention." His voice was stern, almost snarling with anger.

"Not a word. We will discuss once we are on land."

Holmes lit his pipe and leaned over the railing, letting the ocean wind hit his face. Watson leaned on his cane and could only wait until what would lay ahead. The boat drifted into port. Crewmates were yelling to each other, making sure the vessel didn't crash. After about twenty minutes the ramps were free to use. Mr. Burns, letting the seven days on the boat become memories, led Holmes and Watson onto ground. They hoisted their bags, until the gravel met the wooden dock. "Here is where we split. You will be living new lives – not new identities. In this envelope are some American currency, address of living quarters and more instructions from Moriarty. Good luck. You will be under constant observation, so do not try and escape. There will be consequences." Mr. Burns yelled after a coach to bring the two men to the apartment. Just after one arrived, the henchman tipped his hat and walked off. Both of the men were left at their disposal, starting a whole different life in a new and far different city.

* * *

><p>The cab brought them around the back streets of New York City. The ride was silent, neither of the two uttering a word to each other about the matter at hand. The cab came to an intersection, where the street was crowded with horses, buggies, merchants and people. "Excuse me, sirs. We're going to have to wait here. The roads are crowded, and this is the only way to your destination."<p>

Both of them didn't give any form of response. Holmes was engrossed in the scene that lay before his eyes, on the other side. A crowd of people, clad in blue with brown bowler hats surrounded a dusty white home. The door was open letting the sight of the deceased body come into view. She was a pale woman, not older than twenty, her arms were pricked with tiny holes noting her apparent abuse with drugs. Holmes noted the address and hoped to check out the scene in his own time. The buggies that crowded the main street eased up enough for their ride to continue to their new home.

* * *

><p>Watson knocked on the landlord's door with his cane. A man of short stature opened the door and looked at the doctor with a small sense of confusion. Watson looked at the back of the envelope. <em>Landlord's name is Mr. Lee.<em>

"Are you Mr. Lee, the owner of this building?" There was no response. "I'm Doctor Watson, and this is my friend, Sherlock Holmes." He gestured to him, only to see his hands behind his back listening intently with a small smile upon his face. "We have come to rent out the apartment 3F."

"Will there be any animals?"

"No." Watson answered.

"Any loud or suspicious noises will be sought after thus please try to keep quiet unless you would like me invading your privacy."

"Understood." Holmes answered abruptly. Mr. Lee grabbed the key off of the hook and gestured to follow him. The men grabbed their bags and followed the landlord up the crowded stairwell.

"Your reason for renting this place?"

"Mr. Holmes is a consulting detective and I, a doctor. I work privately, while Holmes works, or used to work, with the London police. We've been good friends for quite some time." Watson smiled remembering some fond memories, but his heart quickly sank. _Friend._ He was only a friend to Holmes, however he longed for something else. Watson found himself standing in the middle of the stairwell with Holmes right beside him. The doctor didn't notice Holmes right beside him.

"Watson, are you not feeling well?" Holmes put his hand on the small of Watson's back.

He almost gasped. "Quite alright Holmes. Just though I forgot a suitcase of mine on the first floor." Watson hoped Holmes didn't see right through him. They continued up the stairs until they reached the third floor. Mr. Lee stood outside of the passageway. Holmes and Watson set down their bags. The landlord handed Watson the key. Before he walked away he gave the doctor and the detective a stern look.

"The rent is 2 dollars per month for the two bedrooms, living area and kitchen. The first pay will be due by the end of the week. All rent should be put into an envelope. The month rent will go into affect then. Have a good day, gentlemen." Mr. Lee walked back down the stairs, both Englishmen not knowing when to expect to see him again.

* * *

><p>Watson unlocked the door to the apartment. The four-roomed place was small. The kitchen was minimal and the living quarters could hold two chairs at best.<p>

"Cozy rooms." Holmes quipped. "We could make good use of the living quarters, it can serve us well during cases." Holmes smiled. "Now. Mr. Burns said Moriarty left us with a parting letter?"

Watson placed the last suitcase he still managed to hold on to on the chair. From his breast pocket, Watson picked the letter with his gloved hand and lent it over to Holmes.

The detective started to open up the letter. One thousand American dollars were first found. "I'll keep these in hand. Wouldn't want the rent money to disappear, again."

"Those days are behind me."

"Right behind you." Holmes snapped back.

"Now want does this letter say?" Watson questioned, trying to move the conversation right along.

"_Welcome to the city. I hope you enjoy your stay. I'll be here in London, controlling the most important things this small and feeble town feeds off of. Don't even think about escaping. I've written some letters to the most conniving men in the district to over see your travels. If you do anything as to escape the United States before your one year is up, they are ordered to seek and kill. Sincerely Professor Moriarty."_ Holmes sighed. "Looks like we better get comfortable. Which room do you prefer, Watson?"

"I'll take the one with the windows."

* * *

><p>"You know Holmes, I think if all financial aspects work out, we could move into a flat after a few months." Watson mused. He only got a small chuckle from the other room. The doctor finished putting his clothes in the wardrobe and bureau. He sighed.<p>

He took his last suitcase and put it on the bed carefully. He would have to suffice to writing with pen and paper. They were placed on the desk near his bed. The ink to the pen was placed in the hole on the desk. The Gladstone bag was placed under his bed. Watson sat down on his bed and let it creak. His head fell between his hands, and his back bent over his knees. He felt wetness on his cheeks.

The realization hit him that this vacation may not be the one he always hopped.

Holmes was watching his doctor from the doorway. He had business to take care of and wanted to keep his mind of on the case at hand.

* * *

><p>Holmes walked back to Adams Street. The day was turning into the evening. Holmes remembered the address. The detective walked up to the front door of the town house and knocked. He waited for a total of five minutes before he looked around. Holmes grabbed his lock picking tools and got to work.<p>

_It does make a considerable difference with Watson around._

The lock clicked out of place. Holmes entered the house. From the window, the street lamp gave some light to the interior of the dark flat. It helped, but Holmes would not have minded some more. Holmes searched for an oil lamp, and to his luck he found one. The detective walked around the house to see if there was any sort of clues. He arrived after the police so at most he could probably find a few.

Holmes scanned the rooms. As he turned to the heater, a glint of reflective light caught his eyes. Near the wood-burning heater were seven small bottles of morphine eloquently lined up next to each other. He walked over and picked up each bottle one by one. They were all empty, distorted bottles with each cork shriveled. He kept this detail in his mind. Holmes would have to see the body if it wasn't already buried. He made a note to visit the police station the next day. It was getting late, and the moon was starting to rise with the stars glistening from the natural light.

* * *

><p>Holmes opened the door the apartment. The lights were blown out, recently he deduced from the faint aroma of them being blown out. He went to wake up the doctor, however he hesitated. He heard Watson lightly snoring. Holmes let him drift off in his slumber until morning.<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Not sure when I'll update next. It will most likely be updated before August though! Reviews are most gladly welcome.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

A/N: I want to thank those who have reviewed! They really give me inspiration to write. Finally getting some more plot in this story. Enjoy the chapter!

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><p>Watson woke up to the smell and sound of a match being lit. "Ah, the good doctor wakes. It's time to start the day, my friend." Holmes said in between puffs of tobacco.<p>

Watson stretched. "Were you watching me sleep?"

"Of course not." Holmes changed the subject. "Now, we can find a market along the way to eat a fruitful breakfast, however I must insist the we be quick. I need to see the city's inspector." Holmes' voice drifted throughout the apartment as he walked around.

"For what, exactly?"

"A case, Watson!" Holmes' voice was ecstatic.

_There goes my holiday. _ Watson muttered under his breath.

* * *

><p>Just as Holmes and Watson departed the building, the clock struck 10 in the morning. People were walking lively down the street as the sun shined even through the tall industrial canopy.<p>

"Holmes do you know where we're going?"

"According to this flyer on the light post, 53rd and West is where we can find the inspector and the police building." They passed by the first fruit stand. He picked up two apples, handed one to Watson, and gave the seller the appropriate amount of money.

* * *

><p>"I want the three of you to patrol 14th today. There have been tips of petty crimes by the public. It will be a good first go for one of your first days here." The inspector pointed to three of the younger men clad in uniform. Watson and Holmes walked into the building. The whiff of must over powered the other stenches in the room. Holmes walked up the front desk.<p>

The inspector finished talking to his men and turned his attention to the two men that were standing in front of him.

"Hello, I was curious to know if you had the body of the victim on Adams Street?"

"Sorry, we do not allow regular visitors. We did a search in the house and we didn't see any family letters," the inspector stated in his American accent.

"We're the photographers." Watson said quickly.

"Pardon, sir?"

"We photograph the recently deceased." Watson held up his Gladstone bag. Watson tried to twist his calm demeanor into something different.

"Quite…quite a small bag for a camera to fin in." The inspector was suspicious.

"Newer model," Holmes interjected, and then gave a small smile.

"Well," the inspector sighed, "the person is to be cremated later today, so get on to your job."

* * *

><p>"Quick thinking, Watson." Holmes said.<p>

"I learned it from you." Watson smirked.

"Ah, Adams Street victim. Here she is." Watson walked over to the body.

"Cracked ribs, major bruising, on the face, torso." Watson inspected closer. "An altercation of sorts – probably was somehow thrown against the wall. Retaliation was most likely in the situation." Watson looked closer at the victim's face. "Her eyebrows were singed."

Holmes walked over to get a closer look at the body. He drew a finger across the woman's face from her temple to the edge of her chin. "The singed eyebrows are a trademark. This isn't just a single murder, Watson. There are others, and will be others."

* * *

><p>Watson loosened his stiff collar, and threw it on the desk beside him. "I tried my best at cooking this stew." The doctor chuckled. Dinner was relatively quiet, except for the usual noises from outside. "Luckily, I've managed to pick up a few patients that I'll see every fortnight. It can give us some extra cash." There wasn't a response. The rest of the dinner was quiet. Both returned to their bedrooms.<p>

Holmes peeled off his clothes and put on his nightclothes. He almost fell asleep immediately, however the rest of his night wasn't as peaceful.

* * *

><p>-<em>Four months prior-<em>

"Holmes!" Watson called after the detective, who was running ahead of him. The Case, they signed onto merely weeks ago took a turn for the worse. They managed to find the art thief – granted it wasn't a difficult task, although Holmes didn't seem too troubled and welcomed the work.

"Yes Watson? I'm a little," the robber fired his gun at the duo's general direction, "inconvenienced at the moment!" Holmes shouted back. Pulling out his trust gun out once more he fired the weapon, just missing the thief. A shot from Watson zipped right past his head. The robber took a sharp right, behind a building. It gave him protection, but allowed him to see his surroundings.

Holmes and Watson ran behind a largely stacked pile of crates. They were covered in nets and mildew, however provided enough secrecy in the situation at hand, but maybe not the best protection that a wooden crate could offer.

"Did you find out where our friend happen to hide the paintings?"

"Found in his," he pointed at the thief, " basement about to be sold. Is Lestrade and his team at the end of the road Watson?"

"Yes, I informed him twenty minutes before you literally dragged me along on this chase." Watson commented sardonically.

"How else was I supposed to make you come along?" Holmes started to line up his aim with his pistol.

"You could have asked." Another shot was fired from their opponent's gun. Holmes waited until he found his window of opportunity. He fired and clipped the man's right arm. The bullet became lodged in his muscle. The man stumbled over in pain, barely moving once he reached the ground. Holmes and Watson checked the area to make sure it was clear. Watson flicked his arm towards the officer at the end, motioning that it was okay to make the arrest.

"Ah, what do we have here?" Lestrade said as he rounded the corner.

"The art thief of Mr. Brigade's estate."

"He has a bullet lodged in his right shoulder and should be removed immediately, then quickly bandaged – he will then be ready for his sentencing." Watson made his diagnosis. Lestrade waved over three of his men to carry the wounded thief.

Watson leaned on the brick wall, getting some red dust on his suit. He put a hand to his knee, wincing whenever he moved it slightly.

"I think what you need is a nice warm bath." Holmes said.

"What I need, Holmes, is a nice cold glass of brandy, once we get back to Baker Street. We're not too far away – I can walk."

"Watson, I will not let you injure yourself any more." Holmes placed his arm behind Watson's back with the doctor's arm around the detective's neck. Holmes held Watson and just didn't want to let him go.

Holmes woke up from the memory in a cold sweat. He sighed heavily upon realizing he was still in the apartment in New York City. He pushed the recollection into the back of his mind, focusing on the case that was still in need of taking care of.

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><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. More is to come! Reviews are most gladly welcome.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**A/N:** I haven't written in forever, and I feel terrible for that. School has been rough and I needed to pay attention to that, but I digress. This chapter is not much, but it moves the plot along. Enjoy!

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><p>The sun shone through the window. Although December was approaching it was warm compared to the bleak winter months that England had to offer. Their normal routine continued throughout the normal day – Watson visited some of his patients while Holmes snooped through some of his clues that tried to lead him to the killer. The routine almost seemed like they were back at Baker street, however the New York City skyline was a constant reminder that they were on their new continent.<p>

Watson knocked on the door of his first patient of the day. Mr. Cands was an older gentleman with a bad back. He couldn't move around much, but every few weeks he needed some treatment to ease the pain so he could do his daily chores. Watson was there to help him for the hour and give him his medication that needed to be refilled. The hour went by quickly, a huge relief to Watson. Mr. Cands was his only patient thankfully.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Cands my time is up here." Watson said as he placed his supplies back in his bag.

"Are you getting ready for Thanksgiving, Doctor?"

"I'm sorry?" Watson was confused. He's heard of the tradition, however never celebrated due to the fact that, well, he's not from the country.

"Thanksgiving! The grand ol' tradition of getting together with the people you trust and love. The day where you celebrate what you have and the privilege for having those things you're thankful for with the people you're surrounded with. It's about a week away.."

"Sounds like a grand old time." Watson smiled. "Any of your family coming over to your house for this tradition?" he changed the subject slightly.

"My daughter. We have a stuffed pheasant ever since her mother died…which was about ten years ago when she was eleven."

The room went silent as Watson stood up. "Would you like to join my daughter and me next week? Maybe bring your wife?"

"My wife is back in England with the rest of my supplies, however my good friend and I would love to join you for some stuffed pheasant, Mr. Cands." Watson put on his hat and jacket, and waved goodbye to his patient. The sun got a bit brighter from the last time he saw it.

* * *

><p>Holmes managed to sneak back into the first victim's house. Instead of inspecting the primary floor once again, he headed to the upstairs bedroom in order to see if there were any clues of some sort. There was a small sized bedroom, a bath, and a small room, which looked like only one person could live in the flat. Holmes started in the bedroom. Everything looked normal as far as he observed. It was a few minutes before he started to depart however something looked amiss. The dresser right near the bed was open. This didn't coincide with the rest of the room – the neatly made bed and everything in the room wasn't out of place – so the open drawers on the dressers seemed off. Holmes moved closer to the drawers and searched through. Holmes found a booklet.<p>

He looked through the booklet he found in the victim's drawer. There were scribbles, doodles and just some standard checks between dates. Holmes saw a pattern. It was every other Friday there was a small check between the date, time and address. He smiled because of the progress, even though it was insignificant, that was made.

* * *

><p>It was an hour before Holmes had to be at the address to see what the victim had tucked up her sleeve. When Watson arrived back from his daily duties, he would bring him to the place with him, as a safety precaution. He was the bronze after all.<p>

* * *

><p>"Holmes, Why are we here?" Watson pulled out one of the stools to the bar.<p>

"We are here because our dear departed friend," Holmes waved the planner, "Might have a companion that may have some leads on our new case."

"..and here I thought we were just going out for a drink." Watson said under his breath. Holmes and Watson ordered their drinks. The detective tried to find another indicator about their guest, in the planner he held. In the back section of the planner, he found some more scribbles on the back cover.

_Grey clothing, brown hair. Will sit fifth stool from center of bar._

Twenty minutes later, a woman of petite nature with a light grey dress, and brown hair sat down five seats down from the center of the bar.

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><p><strong>AN: **Reviews are most gladly welcome. The next chapter is going to be posted…well I'm not sure, but I'm not giving up on this story!


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I do not own.

**A/N: **I am so sorry I haven't been updating this story. School got in the way (again). I hope this makes up for the lack of updates. Enjoy the chapter!

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><p>The woman at the middle of the bar took off her gloves, and pushed her brown hair behind her ears. She ordered a half-glass of white wine. Holmes observed the fact that she kept tapping the tips of her fingers.<p>

She was nervous.

Holmes took a sip of his drink, and set the almost empty glass at the side of the bar.

"Is that her?" Watson questioned.

"I believe so. Give me five minutes, wait for my signal, then join me on the opposite side of her," Holmes instructed. He took another sip of his drink then pushed in his chair to the edge of the wooden bar.

"Holmes, _what is the signal_," Watson whispered but with enough force. Holmes didn't respond.

Before siting down the detective reached into his pocket to grab the planner, and flipped it to the current date; he held the open planner with his thumb. Pulling a chair out next the woman, he sat down.

"I'm sorry, but that seat is saved for somebody." She said, quietly.

"Do you happen to know the person who wrote this down in her planner?"

"Yes, a Lindsey Brighton. Did she loose it again? No wonder she's late – she usually is the early one." The woman continued to talk, but paused when she noticed something about the man's expression.

Holmes signaled Watson to sit by her on the other side. "Did Lindsey Brighton live on Adams Street?"

"Yes…can you please tell me what is going on?" The woman started to become confused, more so when Holmes and Watson decided to sit at the bar with her.

"Lindsey Brighton was found dead in her home at the beginning of the month." Watson said solemnly. The woman at the bar set her glass down, and quietly slid her chair out.

"I'm sorry to quickly leave, but I feel as though an unpleasantness has formed in my stomach. I want to thank you for the information given. I should probably go and inform Ms. Brighton's family. Thank you again." She left the bar.

Holmes wanted to catch her name before she was lost into the city but right as he walked out the door, the woman was gone. People walked the street of the city, crowding around the woman. It was only a few seconds before Holmes lost the woman to the busy sidewalk of New York City. The detective took his seat again inside the building. Watson took a confused glace towards the door.

"Did she run off?" Holmes' silence answered his question, although it opened more doorways to where this case could go. The two of them finished their drinks and returned back to their apartment.

* * *

><p>It was the first sleepless night Holmes encountered while over in New York. Holmes' mind was going at miles a minute, thinking of all of the possibilities what could have happened to the now named Lindsey Brighton. Holmes went over the facts, which he had encountered so far. He made a mental list, reviewing each early piece of evidence one by one, and with every piece of evidence reviewed in his mind, his eyelids got heavier and heavier as the night went on.<p>

Holmes awoke to the sun shining through the rickety window, and the kettle whistling. Watson was already dressed and ready to start the day.

"Morning," Watson said through a small smile. Holmes shifted in the chair awkwardly. He managed to swing his legs over the arm of the chair, and his back on the other side during the night. Holmes rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort.

"What _were_ you doing in that chair anyway? It's not like the bed is in England."

"Aren't you in a chipper mood," Holmes jokingly sneered and he sprung to his feet. "I was, my dear fellow, reviewing the beginning evidence of this case. I couldn't sleep, and managed to drift off in the rock of a chair." Holmes slipped on his coat and placed his hat on the top of his head.

"Beginning evidence? It'd seemed like a single tragedy for Ms. Brighton,"

"Now, Watson. I think you know better than that," and with that Holmes smiled, and then swiftly left the apartment.

* * *

><p>The police station was busily moving. Officers were going out and coming in a hurry, the clacking of the typewriters were echoing throughout the building. Holmes noted all of the similarities. Holmes took a deep breath of the musty smell. He needed to review Lindsey Brighton's case reports. From his mental review it seemed as though there was something missing.<p>

Holmes spotted the filing cabinets behind the desks. Holmes found a hook and placed his hat. Scotland Yard was his second home. Lestrade would rummage around in the back while Holmes took a seat at one of the officer's desks, looking through the information needed.

The police offices here were different. It almost ran mechanically, each officer at a desk, filling out reports, people walking in and out, either in cuffs, or after a night or two in the cell. Holmes walked passed some of the younger officers, the ones who were neck deep in writing up their reports. It was one officer later that took notice to the one person who seemed out of place.

"Hold it right there. Who are you?!" the officer almost screamed.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'm-" Holmes was cut off.

"Ah, back to take some more pictures?" the inspector inquired. The young officer backed away from the inspector, eventually sitting back down at his desk.

"Not quite. The woman I took photos of with my friend, was named Lindsey Brighton,"

"How do you know that?" The inspector seemed ticked off.

"…I'm a long distant relative," Holmes lied, but he thought that maybe telling the Inspector that breaking into a stranger's home and grabbing her personal information wasn't really the best idea, especially because the inspector was not Lestrade, and maybe he would be the one behind bars. "I'm curious to see the recent medical reports surrounding victims on Adams Street,"

"Out of all the streets in New York City, you're asking me to go through all just to find a few reports? And for what reason?"

"Yes, and my suspicions have been raised to the fact that this might not be a one time deal,"

The Inspector was quiet for a minute. "I'll allow it this time, but only since you're actually here. Next time you're going to have to work for this precinct to be able to access these."

Holmes responded with a smile. "I want to thank you, Inspector. I should get on with my work."

It was nearly four hours later, and six files that were spread across the desk. The officers allowed him to use one of the rooms near the back of the building to sort out his files. He managed to find Ms. Brighton's report - a crisp paper, that had only been recently filed.

It wasn't until the last file he opened up, that there was something that started to stick out as a connection. Holmes folded up the paper, and placed it in his inside coat pocket, along with the Adams Street's report. Holmes took the files back to the main part of the building, where all of the younger officers were still clacking away at their typewriters. Holmes didn't know what to do with the files at hand. He just handed them off to the officer that greeted him when he first entered the building, grabbed his hat, and left.

* * *

><p>Holmes opened the apartment door – the sun still shone through the window. The detective placed his jacket on the table and pulled out the information he obtained from the police station. On his way back to the apartment, he stopped at a market to pick up a couple of necessities – tacks and twine.<p>

Holmes, before sorting out the things he managed to collect, cleared off the sidewall that faced the chair. He took down the pointless paintings, that really served no purpose in decorating the apartment, moved the small bookcase from one side of the wall, to next to the chair. Holmes tacked on the police report to the wall, threaded some twine, and let the string dangle. Holmes grabbed Lindsey Brighton's planner. He flipped through the small book.

A photograph fell out and hit the floor. He recognized the face of Lindsey Brighton and the woman both Holmes and Watson met. Holmes tacked on the picture along with a few of her planner pages. It was a small web, however it was only the beginning. Holmes placed his hands on his lower back and exhaled. Watson opened the door not minutes later.

"What's going on here?" the doctor asked.

"I went to the police station to see if there was any past murders with the same report. There was one."

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><p><strong>AN: ** I really don't have another excuse for not updating rather than school kind of took over my life for the past few months. However, since my schedule has changed a bit, I do have a bit more time to write. I also want to thank my friend **Halfreck3929** for the beta work for this chapter. Reviews are most gladly welcome :)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews to those who've reviewed! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

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><p>"Just one piece of evidence?"<p>

"Yes, but it proves that it's not just a suicide, or just one suicide. It proves that our trip here, isn't just a waste." Holmes smiled like he just proved the murder of the century. Watson placed his bags out on the dining room table, and laying his coat on one of the wooden seats. Watson then casually walked over to the chair in the living room.

"Entertain me," He through his hands up in the air as he drew a deep sighs.

"Well, after the police inspector thinking that I was the long lost cousin of Ms. Brighton, I managed to gain access to the files. It took me a bit more than a few papers to finally see some sort of similarities between the two cases."

"You could only find one case?" Watson questioned.

"I searched through one section of a neighborhood. This city is larger than you think," Holmes noted. "The case of our dear departed fellow was tragic – found in the small park lying face down in the mud. Many bruises along the lower body and back, however there seemed to be one thing that really stood out: his eyebrows, as it says in the report – were singed."

Watson sat quietly for just a moment. "It's not much, but it is…something. I think maybe if you managed to look more than just one neighborhood."

"I am going to have to return to the police station to obtain more evidence. I believe I need another trip back. Hopefully the inspector doesn't mind." Holmes gave a small chuckle.

Watson took a small sigh as Holmes walked over the kitchen. "I'm guessing it's another night for stew – beef or chicken?" Holmes causally called over. "I think, Watson, we can use a night out to visit one of the more higher rated restaurants over here."

Watson stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, as he walked over to the dining table. "There is this one opportunity we can take," Watson thanked that the topic of a change of plans came up in the conversation. "One of my patients wanted for me to join him and his daughter for the American tradition of 'Thanksgiving'. Would you like to accompany me this Thursday?"

A small smile splashed across Holmes' face. "I would be delighted to join – is there any type of formal clothing requirements?"

"I see Mr. Cands on Tuesday, and can ask him for Thursday's festivities."

"Looking forward to it," Holmes stirred the soup that was brewing on top of the stove that he started to make just minutes ago. The rest of the night was filled with a relaxed tension in the apartment. The rest of the week became something of a more relaxed state. Holmes couldn't get back into the police station for the past few days before Thursday's dinner with the Cands. Holmes noted that he would have to get back by Friday to see if there was another neighborhood that had a similar murder. He may have to take up the offer of joining the police to gain access. It was a lot easier to see the files with Lestrade, with him barely paying any attention in Scotland Yard to who went through their reports.

* * *

><p>Watson packed up his Gladstone bag from the day's visit to Mr. Cands' flat.<p>

"Will you still be joining us for this Thursday's festivities?"

"Yes, and I hope you don't mind, but my friend would care to join."

"The more the merrier!" a smile crossed the older gentleman's face.

"Oh, and another thing before I leave; is formal wear required?"

"Yes – it would be great if you could be here around 2 o'clock for the dinner. It's an early feast,"

"See you then, Mr. Cands." Watson tipped his hat and left the flat.

* * *

><p>Thursday rolled around quickly; both Holmes and Watson almost forgetting about the day, but thankfully the early reminders of people jotting about the streets of New York City, holding fresh vegetables and meats. The duo got dressed in their best clothes that they brought. It wasn't anything too formal, however it was nicer than their usual day clothing.<p>

Mr. Cands' home wasn't too far away from their apartment – Holmes and Watson took up the opportunity to enjoy the cold, yet pleasant weather that the city had offered.

"Doctor Watson!" exclaimed the older gentleman, "You made it! How delightful. Please come in!" Mr. Cands shuffled to the side of the door as Watson and Holmes stepped into the living room. The doctor handed the older gentleman a bottle of wine as a gift for allowing them to join their festivities. The home smelled delightful. The seasoning from the roasted pheasant that was being cooked wafted into the rooms.

"…and I presume this is a good friend of yours?"

"My apologies, this is-"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he threw out a hand in front of him for a handshake. "A good friend to Dr. Watson. We've been working together for as long as I can remember."

"It is very nice to meet you." Mr. Cands said with a smile across his face. He was really glad for the company in which he lacked in the past few years. "I keep forgetting, you must meet my daughter Janice." He led the two men to the kitchen.

"I certainly hope he hasn't been making you do all the work!" Watson joked.

"Oh, Doctor Watson, how nice of you to join!" she gave a smile to the man who had been taking care of her father. "Certainly not. Father has been up all morning making the salad, cutting the onions, apples and the other vegetables. Not to mention, prepping the pie for later this evening. _He's_ the one who should be relaxing." Janice chuckled.

"Is that a Rosemary, Tarragon, and Basil dry rub you used on the pheasant?" Holmes questioned.

"It is! You have a keen sense of smell mister…I don't believe we've met," Janice quickly washed off her hands.

"Sherlock Holmes – I'm a good friend of Dr. Watson, and your father allowed him to bring me along for the festivities." Holmes shook her hand lightly.

"The more the merrier!" Janice beamed. The past few thanksgivings had been especially hard on her father with his ailing health, however just being around more company rather than just her and the crackling fire. Janice put the food on the table, with the salad topped with diced apples and chopped walnuts. She placed the baked sweet potatoes near the perimeter of the non-decorated part of the table. Mr. Cands, Holmes, and Watson walked over to the table. They stood until Janice took her seat, then sat, putting the napkins on their laps.

"Janice would you like to lead in tonight's prayer?" Mr. Cands asked his daughter.

She smiled in response and then closed her eyes and lowered her head. Holmes and Watson followed.

"Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful for what you have – to be thankful for the things that are in your life. The friends that stick my your side, the family that never leaves your side. I am thankful for a father that cares too much, and I am thankful for a mother that was just as caring during her lifetime, may her soul rest in peace. I am thankful for this food on our table, for the people in our lives that keep us sane, and for all the luck that has come our way. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the people at the table repeated. Watson looked up at Holmes, and gave him a tight smile. Holmes did the same.

Those smiles, although barely noticeable by Janice or Mr. Cands and certainly quick before they started to cut into the meat and drop the salad onto their plates, were a reminiscent memory to the trust they held in each other – how vulnerable they would be if the other wasn't their for him, by their side, each step of the way.

The four drank their wine plentiful, and sat with stuffed stomachs for a few hours, still talking about past stories of their friendships. By the time their appetite for a bit more food resurfaced, Janice put the Mince Pies on the table accompanied by some tea and heated cider. They ate in joy, laughter, and peace. The fire had died down, and the table was cleaned off of all the plates. Holmes and Watson stood by the door, shrugging on their outerwear.

"I want to thank you very much for inviting us to the festivities." Watson charmed.

"It was absolutely my pleasure. Mr. Holmes, it was very nice to meet you as well." Mr. Cands happily replied.

"And you as well," Holmes said in a positive and calm tone.

"Don't forget to take your recommended medicine, and I will check up on your health on Tuesday." The doctor turned to Janice. "Thank you, again, for a lovely dinner." Watson kissed the top of Janice's hand.

"It's been a pleasure Ms. Cands." Holmes gave his formalities and followed Watson out the door.

They walked arm in arm back to their apartment.

* * *

><p>Holmes unlocked the door to the apartment. He set his jacket upon the table, and Watson followed.<p>

Watson wasn't sure if he was acting by his impulses, understanding how Holmes was always by his side in times of trouble, or if it was just the good portion of wine during dinner, but before Holmes could say his goodnights and head to bed, Watson grabbed his hand.

There was a jolt in Holmes' hand, but he eventually turned around – it was definitely something he wasn't expecting. Watson placed his hands on the detective's hips after letting go of his hand. Watson leaned in halfway and Holmes closed the space between them.

They broke apart after they thought that they needed air, both of them almost forgetting how to breathe.

Holmes tugged on his shirt. "Well, goodnight then." He pivoted and headed straight to his bedroom.

Watson pulled off his gloves, and scratched an itch on the back of his neck that wasn't there. He hoped that his impulses didn't get the best of him. Watson walked to his room and headed to bed. When the doctor woke up, Holmes wasn't in the apartment, yet only a note.

_When you awake, I will be at the police station. Your assistance with the _copious _amounts of files would be greatly appreciated._

-_SH_

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><p><strong>AN: **I did as much research as I could in trying to figure our what a typical small family Victorian-American thanksgiving would be like. There wasn't _that_ much information, but I tried at least. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are most gladly welcome. :)


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

**A/N: **Enjoy the chapter! Sorry for the wicked late chapter update. Time slipped from under my hands, however here it is!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own.

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><p>Watson managed to arrive at the police station in fifteen minutes. The sky was cloudy, and a light wind started. Watson buttoned up his jacket more, and wished that he had a scarf to keep his neck warm.<p>

The police station, as Watson remembered from his first visit, wasn't as busy as the last time he was there. The doctor asked around to the few remaining officers that weren't pulled away by the crime on the streets about where his friend – Watson sighed. After last night and the few other times before arriving in New York City, he really wasn't sure what to address Holmes as, other than a dear friend – may be. He was eventually led into a back room with piles of files surrounding the detective.

"Holmes, I think we should probably follow the trail of officers to the dead body that they are probably surrounding at the moment," Watson said as he clicked the door into place, but there was no response. He said it again, a bit louder to let the detective know that he was in the room. Holmes lifted his head over the piles of folders on the desk, and gave a weary smile.

"Ah, yes," Holmes cleared his throat and cleared up some of the papers that were strewn across the table. "However I believe our answer does not lie on a person, however, in this building." Holmes got up and pushed in his chair. "Specifically, on these papers."

"What do you mean, Holmes? A decoded message?" Watson furrowed his eyebrows, leaned on the table, and crossed his arms. Between last night and the new information that Holmes seemed to stumble upon, the doctor's head started to spin; he needed the table as a device that allowed him to stay off the floor.

"I still need more pieces of the enigma to complete my hypothesis, however I do feel as though the end is near, for this case at least."

"I understand that the police station may not be the best place to talk about what happened between the two of us. I do feel as though-" Holmes was cut off from a officer opening the door.

"Sirs, I was just checking to see how everything was going with the files?"

"They are a great tool, thank you officer," Holmes said while flipping through the pages once again, giving a quick smile. The officer opened the door to leave but was stopped by a question from Holmes.

"Is the chief back from figuring out the murder he is investigating?"

"No, but how did you know that he was out investigating?"

"Three quarters of the police station is not in the building, only leaving a few behind to take care of the more petty crimes that this city offers. Last time this many officers were out in the city together was when Ms. Brigton was found in her flat."

Watson saw the spark in the detective's eye.

"Oh, well. Take as long as you need with the folders,"

"Actually, I am quite finished," Holmes gathered up the materials in front of him and gave them to the young officer. "I hope you have a good day," Holmes smiled and then walked out of the small room with Watson in tow.

* * *

><p>The walk back to the apartment was quiet, people on the street hurrying to the warmest place – the wind had picked up and grey skies started to form over the city skyline. Both buttoned up their jackets in order to shield themselves from the bitter chill.<p>

They unlocked their apartment door.

"Did you take down any notes from the case reports?" Watson asked as he closed the door. Holmes took two papers out of his coat pocket from the inside of his jacket.

"Even better – the actual reports that caught my eye."

"Do you have any theories?"

"That's for you to find out, Watson." Holmes gave a smirk as he spread out the papers on the table.

"You know very well that I am not one to find the smallest details,"

"Save your words, Watson, I've seen you observing my techniques,"

Watson's face flushed just enough for his cheeks to turn a faint pink. Holmes took down Ms. Brighton's case file and brought it down to see all of the case reports together.. "Now," Holmes motioned to the papers "what can you see that seems just not quite right?"

Watson walked over to the evidence and tried to make some connections between the three reports. There were sharp knocks at the door that interrupted Watson's stream of concentration.

"You paid the rent?" Watson chuckled, although his tone was slightly serious.

"I doubt Mr. Lee has noticed the lack of letter that contains the rent money. Especially since the letter I did leave, didn't contain any money." All that came from Watson, as a response, was a sigh.

Holmes unlocked the door and was greeted from their old friend Mr. Burns. The other gentleman tipped his hat in a silent greeting then invited himself inside. Watson stood, and placed his hands in his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" Holmes said bluntly.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, that's no way to greet an old friend, is it?" Mr. Burns chuckled. "I just need to take an interest on your trip,"

"Trip? _Trip?!" _Watson interjected. He clenched his fists in his pockets. "You and _your friends _back in England kidnapped us. We risked _everything_, you want to know how our trip is going?"

"Well, you seemed to have a pleasant Thanksgiving with your friends," Mr. Burns retorted.

"Let's not have a repeat of the rugby match you had back in August, Watson." Holmes mentioned to Watson as he relaxed. "Mr. Burns, we can assure you that we won't be out of your sight anytime soon. We both have obligations we're attending to that don't look like they will subside anytime near."

"I will send a letter to Moriarty then to let him know of the progress, or lack there of, which you two have made with any efforts to leave this city. Don't get caught up in your games, they look like they've just begun." Mr. Burns alluded to the pieces of evidence that hung on the wall. Holmes practically forgot about Moriarty. His plan was rooted deep, and almost too far for Holmes to reach. Forcing both him and Watson was definitely removing two very strong factors out of his difficult equation from his plan making his time in their home country a bit easier to maneuver.

"Have a good day," Mr. Burns tipped his hat and left the apartment.

The door shut, the old wood creaking. "He makes me livid. To just barge right into our home, with his false air, makes me want to-" Holmes put both of his arms on Watson's shoulders. The doctor sighed.

"I feel the same way, however we can redirect our anger to the case that is in front of us. We are on the edge, Watson, almost at the end of our road. I can almost taste it, Watson,"

"Before our most endearing friend interrupted our train of thought, what were some of the thoughts that you had in mind?"

"Well, out of the four," he motioned to the papers that still lay on the table, "only three match up."

"Correct."

"You, already know, don't you Holmes?" Watson accused Holmes with a light tone to his voice.

"That's for you to find out. Now, they don't match up."

"Well, out of the four, three match but this one…it's a lot simpler – as though there are two different authors."

"Correct, Watson," Holmes gave a quick smile. "These three have the same writing pattern – a quick pace, but wordy and descriptive – however the fourth report is simple and to the point."

"What about the context?"

"They're the reports from the last four deaths which all policemen went to the scene. Each outline the scene of the death, the three in great detail…" Holmes' voice trailed off.

"What is it, Holmes?"

"Ms. Brighton's friend that we met at the bar, do we have her address from her planner?"

"I'll check. May I ask why?"

"It looks like the case has taken a sharp turn."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I believe we are approaching the end of this story soon. I'm planning on a couple of more chapters to go. Reviews are most gladly welcome.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

**A/N:** We're almost done with the story here. There's a bit of an AU factor since I'm not quite sure when the first trains started appearing in NYC. I tried to do my best with research. Thanks to **Halfreck3929 **for the beta! Enjoy the chapter!

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><p>There were three sharp knocks on Cecelia's door. She wasn't expecting any company, it was only mid-day and her errands that she needed to complete weren't expected to begin until around supper. She pulled back the lace curtain that covered the door window to see two somewhat familiar faces: the dark haired detective and his slightly taller mustached friend. They were both at the bar when she needed to visit Lindsey.<p>

With hesitation she opened the door.

"Good afternoon," Cecelia said quietly. "How can I help you?"

"I don't suppose you remember us?" Holmes questioned.

"I'm not sure I do," she replied.

"Lying to us already? We've barely exchanged pleasantries. If you didn't know us already, I think it's time to get re acquainted." Holmes paused.

"We were at the bar the day you were visiting Lindsey, although Lindsey passed, you continued your visit."

"Well, yes, we scheduled our meetings weeks in advance." Cecelia retorted.

"But, if I may further this investigation, you knew she was dead, and in fact, you were there when she died," as Holmes started to interrogate Cecelia, Watson started to back up from the house and walk around the back of the house. "I see some fright in your face, may I come in dear?"

"I have ab-absolutely no idea what you are rambling about. I think it is time for you to leave," Cecelia's voice started to shake as she closed the door as calmly as possible. She swore under her breath and ran to her closet where a pre-packed bag of clothes lay. She ran to the back of the door, after securing the front and leaving.

"Have you informed the police?" Watson asked, waiting for Cecelia to open the door.

"Just gave a letter to inform anybody but the inspector." Cecelia quickly opened the back door in a huff only to be greeted by Watson and Holmes.

"I suggest the side window next time," Holmes said. "I believe your new destination is the police station, we have to meet your partner,"

Holmes, Watson, and Cecelia all walked to the station as swiftly as possible, trying not to let their second offender step out of the station.

It was not twenty minutes later, and they managed to arrive at the station juts on time, with one of the rookie officers on hand greeting the three of them with handcuffs for Cecelia.

"You're bluffing Mr. Holmes. You have no idea if I actually committed these crimes, whatever those may be," the woman said softly.

"You're going to regret provoking him." Watson quipped.

"Provoking him to what? Arrest me? I am innocent!"

"To explain his thought process."

"…and that is a bad thing?" Cecelia asked.

"Only if you are not innocent," Watson said back.

Minutes later the head officer walked through the doors of the station only to be greeted by the head of the rookie officers with handcuffs, Holmes and Watson with Cecelia in tow.

"What is going on?" The inspector was close to shouting.

"I am innocent. I did not do anything!"

"That is where you, both of you," Holmes pointed to Cecelia and the inspector at the same time, "are wrong. Next time you try selling morphine on the streets to people that are dependent on, try hiding the evidence better. When I was looking in your friend's flat I saw dried cork in the fire pit. I'm guessing you got into an altercation and some things didn't plan out so well as you hoped and you threw the morphine bottles into the fire pit, hoping that the bottles would melt and let other people think that maybe she tripped and fell on a chair rather than succumbing to your violence. The death of Lindsey, wasn't your first death. Other than killing people and leaving them in horrific situations, you were very thorough, I do applaud you for that, even going for lighting a match and trying to burn the extra hair that fell onto the body. However, you knew how to cover it up. That's where our dear Inspector comes into play."

He faced the Inspector. "If you are trying to hide your link to the murders, next time try to mix it up when writing the reports. I suggest using a different handwriting or maybe not even writing the reports at all."

The Inspector's face became exasperated.

"It doesn't look like you will have much luck in the court," the younger policeman noted as he took the Inspector and Cecelia. to the holding cells in the police station.

As the police station was in a hurry to lock up the two criminals Watson and Holmes ducked out of the building. It was a swift walk back to their apartment. Watson started to take off his coat and relax on the chair.

"What a day," Watson stretched his arms. "I don't have any patients until tomorrow, so we can relax a bit until then. What do you want to do for dinner?" he said as he was hanging his coat on the coat rack.

"How about we leave?"

"You mean eat out?"

"I mean get out of New York,"

"They'll catch us." Watson stated.

"They'll catch up to us, but if we keep moving from one place to another, we can get back to Baker Street. You can finally see Mary again and have a normal life."

"Somewhat normal." Watson laughed. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it...but I don't think we should go. They're watching our every move, Holmes, we just can walk out of the building like it is no problem and then catch then next horse that comes galloping by."

"Should we take that chance?"

Watson pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to regret this. Do you know the train schedule?"

"I have it in my back pocket. Let us get packing." Holmes smiled.

* * *

><p>Holmes slid the last month's rent under Mr. Lee's door. They took their luggage into the back alley in order to avoid the crowd. Trying to avoid the public streets, they called a buggy which brought the two to the train station.<p>

"The train leaves in about 20 minutes. If my calculations are correct, we can arrive just about five minutes until the train leaves, and then board quickly, hopefully avoiding Mr. Burns and his _seemingly_ non-existence employees." The buggy ride was almost nerve-wracking, running against the clock and against the hope that Mr. Burns didn't see the two of them leave.

The train was getting ready to depart the small train station. The steam from the train started to plume from the machine. The conductor yelled for the last call before departing. Watson and Holmes paid the buggy for it's service and took their luggage to the train. Holmes looked back once more only to see Mr. Burns catching up.

Holmes started to walk faster and Watson followed shortly thereafter. They hopped onto the train quickly right as it was starting to pull out of the station.

"Stop that train!" Mr. Burns yelled. Holmes heard his yell as he gave the tickets to the conductor.

"I'm sorry sir, but the train has left." A man part of the crew on the platform stopped Mr. Burns from running any farther. Mr. Burns threw his jacket on the floor in anger.

* * *

><p>"So where are we off to now?" They were about three hours into their train ride, as night overtook the sky. The stars were shining bright as Holmes and Watson looked out of the windows in the observation car. Their hands interlaced underneath the table.<p>

"I'm not so sure. The tickets say Chicago, but who knows where we'll end up." Holmes said. "We'll end up in England eventually,"

"Eventually." Watson smiled, looking forward to the uncertainty in his life.

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><p><strong>AN:** With that, this fic is finished! Sorry for the delays in between chapters. I hope you enjoyed this story!


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